I don’t go to beaches anymore. It’s not that I’m afraid of sharks, or anything like that. I was actually a marine biologist at one point, my dream job since ten years old.
Sharks, dolphins, even the oft-forgot porpoises, I loved them all. The ocean was my whole world, up until that day in August 1995.
The weather forecast predicted clear skies, so I decided to take my yacht, the *Seaquence*, out for a weekend cruise.
I was twenty miles out from the North Beach docks when my engines started billowing smoke.
“Aw, shit.” I yelled, and shifted the throttle back. The smell of burning metal hit my nose as I scrambled into action, killing the engines and quickly checking to make sure nothing was on fire.
*Oh great,* I thought. Just what I needed.
I ducked into the cabin to get my toolkit. The long-forgotten gear had been well stashed away, so I had to search under all the mess to find the damned tools.
I only lost sight of the cabin windows for three seconds, maybe five. When I came back up with the toolkit the viewports were pitch black.
At first I thought some sort of chemical leak had dirtied up the panels. I made a quick escape from the cabin to avoid any fumes.
The sky was the color of rotten eggs decaying in a trash bag, gruesome yellow streaks overlaying a shade of blackness I had never seen before or would again.
The night sky was pressing down on the *Seaquence* like a dark blanket thrown over a sleeping child.
I realized then I could hear the low roar of an approaching vessel. I ran to the side of the yacht and looked out over the dark waters, my salvation an incoming silhouette on the horizon.
Although the *Seaquence* was now running full flood lights, the incoming boat was nearly as foreboding as the sky above it. The fear came then.
My small animal brain was smarter than me, recognizing the appearance of predators even in this strange black dimension.
The dark vessel drew closer. It was no larger than a family bowrider, and four forms stood rigid on the deck. Despite the speed of the boat, they did not sway. We were similar in that regard.
My legs finally burst into motion and I ran into the cabin, hands shaking, searching for the flare gun. I found it and tried to stop hyperventilating and slid down the cabin wall.
I never heard the other boat dock. I shot the first creature that came through the door and it died screaming and burning and I screamed with it.
The second creature got me while I was reloading and then it slid something wet into my eyes and took things from me.
I was woken up on the South Beach by some cops.
I wanted as far away from the ocean as possible so I took their advice to clear out. They never found my yacht.